


never gonna find it (if you're looking for it)

by red0aktree



Series: where the light exists [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Asexual Character, Clint and Bucky are also best friends, F/M, M/M, Natasha and Steve are best friends, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Tattoo Artist!Hipster!Steve, War Vet!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2131926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red0aktree/pseuds/red0aktree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has a roommate named Bucky, who Steve has never really met. When Clint and Natasha decide to take the next step in their relationship, Steve is in need of someone to help him pay the rent, and Bucky is in need of a place to stay.</p><p>Tiny Hipster Steve, who owns a tattoo shop, and war veteran Bucky find that they share much more than just a living room, and fall in love the way stupid kids usually do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never gonna find it (if you're looking for it)

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't actually going to post this, but I decided to last minute. So, just know that it isn't beta-ed and all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Title from Blue and Yellow by The Used (which is totally the theme song /and/ inspiration for this story)

Natasha was moving out and Steve really, really wished she wasn’t. Steve wasn’t in love with Natasha, that was Clint’s job, but he _was_ in love with not being alone. Now that she was leaving (though, admittedly, she wasn’t leaving for good nor would she be very far away), Steve was going to be alone a lot more often.

That was, until Bucky. 

~ 

“Wait, what?” Steve frowned.

“Clint’s apartment is too small for three people, and I mean, this just makes the most sense doesn’t it?” Natasha shrugged, glancing to Clint who was distracted by his phone. “You’re still going to need someone to help you pay the rent, and James isn’t going to want to stay living with Clint once I move in there.”

James was Clint’s roommate in a tiny two bedroom apartment in Mapleton. They had been friends since they were young. James moved in with Clint a little over six months ago when he was discharged from the service due to injury. As far as Steve could tell from the few brief meetings with James he had experienced, he was quiet but not shy. Clint said that James didn’t like going out much since he had returned, and mostly kept to himself.

“Yeah, but what makes you think he’s going to want to live with _me_?”

“You’re boring. He likes boring.” Clint didn’t look up from his phone as he spoke.

“Oh thanks, Clint.” Steve snorted before looking back to Natasha. Her red hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she was smirking.

“I just texted him. He says he sure as hell isn’t going to want to be staying with us, and I quote, ‘once you’re fucking in the next room every night’.”

“I see where he’s coming from on that one,” Steve grimaced. Natasha didn’t even flinch at Clint’s words, as if he hadn’t just declared the nature of their very loud sex life in the middle of a crowded coffee shop.

“Oh shut up,” Natasha waved her hand in Steve’s general direction, “So, he wants to room with Steve?”

“He doesn’t know yet. Said he’ll think about it.”

“Do I even get a say in this?” Steve lamented.

“Not really.” Natasha shrugged.

“It will be good for you both.” Clint added. Steve just sipped his coffee in defeat.

 

* * *

 

“So, how’d you meet Natasha?” James asked as he walked beside Steve on the mostly empty Brooklyn street. The hood of his grey cotton jacket was pulled up, protecting him from the lazy drizzle of the rain.

Steve had been the one to suggest he and James meet for dinner. It would be a good way to get to know each other, and if everything went well, decide on living arrangements.

“School. I majored in art history, and for a minute there, she tried to. Nat switched majors though, about halfway through the first year. Communications was more her thing anyway. But yeah, school.”

James nodded, and shoved his hands deeper in his pockets.

“She’s great, you know? I’m kind of sad she’s moving out. Well, I mean, I’m happy for her and everything, but still kind of disappointed. I didn’t expect we would live together forever or anything, but it still kind of… sucks.”

James smiled at that. Steve returned the smile, tipping his head upward a bit to see James’s face.

Once inside the restaurant, James removed his hood, pushing a hand through his shaggy damp hair. Steve watched carefully, noting that he only had a glove on one hand, his left. He looked tired the way soldiers usually did, and Steve couldn’t help but want to sketch him.

Steve loosened the his thin scarf around his neck, and rolled up the sleeves of his red checked overshirt. James stepped up to the counter and asked for a table for two.

“What will the name on that be?” She asked, marking her seating diagram.

“Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Steve echoed. James - _Bucky?_ \- glanced to him, lips curving mischievously. He stepped away from the counter, and Steve followed him to the seating area as they waited for their table.

“You know, I don’t think this roommate thing is going to work out if you don’t even know my name.”

“Clint and Natasha call you James. Is that… not your name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” James stuck his hand out as if they were meeting for the first time, “But my friends call me Bucky.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Steve shook his hand, “But my friends call me Steve.”

“Nice to meet you, Steve,” Bucky smirked, “Natasha only calls me James because Clint does. And Clint only does because he’s a shit head.”

“I won’t argue with that one.” Steve laughed. Bucky’s smile widened.

Steve really hoped tonight went well. Maybe Clint had been right, this would be good for both of them.

~

Everything was going well until a car backfired outside of the restaurant. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and at first Steve didn’t even notice. He continued to talk on as if nothing had happened until he caught sight of the panicked look in Bucky’s eyes. His left hand, still gloved, was clenched into a fist on the table and his right tightly gripped the fork he had been holding as if it were a weapon.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asked, glancing around quickly. Bucky bit his bottom lip, scoping out each exit in the building. Steve watched helplessly.

“Hey, we’re good here, it was just a car. Everything’s alright. Bucky?” Steve panicked a bit, catching sight of the way Bucky’s breathing had picked up. He reached across the table slowly, giving Bucky plenty of time to pull away if he felt threatened. He didn’t pull away, just watched Steve’s movements cautiously.

Steve slid his fingers over the knuckles of Bucky’s right hand, which held the fork. At the touch, Bucky seemed to realize he had been holding the utensil, and dropped it quickly. He unclenched his left hand as though it pained him, and spread his fingers out, pressing his palm flat against the table.

“I’m okay.” There was no emotion in Bucky’s words.

“Okay. Okay, good. Let’s get out of here.” Steve waved toward their waitress, asking politely for the check. Bucky watched but didn’t say a word. When the waitress flashed him a flirtatious smile, he didn’t return it.

Bucky pulled his hood up as soon as they exited the building. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and Steve adjusted his thick rimmed glasses.

“I can, uh, call a cab? If you want?”

“We can walk.” Steve didn’t like the way he sounded. It was sad and guilty and disappointed all at once.

“Okay.” The walk was silent for a majority of the way. When they arrived at Clint’s apartment -- and Bucky’s for the time being -- Bucky hesitated slightly.

“Look, I’m really sorry, okay?” He said, pushing his hood down as he stood under the overhang at the entrance.

“For what?” Steve asked, tilting his head to the side. Bucky scrubbed his hand through his hair in agitation.

“For… For all of that,” Bucky waved his hand in the direction they had just came from, “I’m not, I… I don’t go out a lot because of stuff like that and it’s nothing you did wrong so don’t look so sad, okay?”

Bucky watched Steve with huge eyes. Steve, in return, smiled gently.

“Okay.”

“Okay. Good. If, uh, if I didn’t scare you away too badly,” Bucky’s laugh was a bit self deprecating, “Then I would still like to work out… something."

“You wanna be my roommate?” Steve didn’t even try to hide his excitement.

“Yeah, if you’ll have me.”

“I snore,” Steve warned, shivering a bit in the cold. “Really loudly. Nat used to complain.”

“Really? _You_ snore?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve laughed.

“Just look at you, I couldn’t imagine you being capable of making a noise beyond, like, a squeak.”

“Seriously? This is what I’m signing up for? A smartass who makes cheap shots about my size?” Steve was laughing for real now, grinning at Bucky.

“Aw, you swear too? That’s adorable.”

“Go inside, before I change my mind about rooming with you.”

Bucky’s smile showed his only slightly crooked teeth. Even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, it was still nice. He bid Steve goodnight, and disappeared inside. Steve finished the walk to his own apartment, only a few blocks away, and wondered what exactly he was getting himself into.

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t tell me you owned a tattoo shop,” Bucky huffed as he lugged a box up across the threshold to Steve’s apartment.

“I didn’t?” Steve asked from where he stood at the counter, unpacking the small amount of kitchen items Bucky had brought with.

“Nope,” Bucky popped the P as he dropped the box onto the living room floor and brushed his hands off on his dark jeans. He still wore his grey hoodie, and the single glove. Steve was beginning to get curious.

“I just figured you really liked tattoos.” Bucky pointed to the tattoos on Steve’s exposed hands and forearms, his white button up rolled up to his elbows.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Steve placed two coffee cups in the overhead cupboard, “Was that the last box?”

“Yep,” Bucky flopped down on the couch, and watched Steve through his eyelashes, “I officially live here now.”

“Oh joy,” Steve muttered teasingly, “Do you have any tattoos?”

“A couple. They’re shitty though.”

“I could fix ‘em up for you, if you wanted.”

“Perk of knowing the owner, free touch ups.”

“Hopefully not the only perk,” Steve replied, hopping onto the counter and crossing his legs, still facing Bucky. “And I’m not the owner.”

“No?”

“No. Co-owner. Peggy Carter is my partner in crime.”

“Eh, same difference,” Bucky rubbed his eyes tiredly, “Is there coffee?”

“I can make some,” Steve said, twisting to reach for the coffee pot.

“No, I got it.” Bucky stood and moved to the kitchen. Steve spun around on the counter, so he could still face Bucky. His feet dangled off the edge as he watched Bucky fill the pot with water.

“So, give me run down of the rules.”

“What rules?” Steve quirked an eyebrow.

“Rules of the house. Obviously, sitting on counters isn’t breaking them.” Bucky shooed Steve away from the coffee maker, and Steve slid further down on the small counter.

“There aren’t really rules. I mean, okay, no lighting fires in the living room or anything, but besides that I don’t really care what you do.”

“Shoes in the house?”

“Sure.”

“Music in the kitchen?”

“Only if you don’t mind dancing.”

“Oh, I _definitely_ don’t mind dancing. Okay, um, foreign movies?”

“What?”

“Are we allowed to watch foreign movies?”

“Were foreign movies _not_ allowed where you’ve been living?”

“You’d be surprised. Clint’s pretty wacked.”

“Okay then. Yes, foriegn movies are allowed.”

“Oh, boy. Ain’t that the best news I’ve heard all week.”

 

* * *

 

_To: Nat_  
 _Why does he always wear the hoodie?_

_From: Nat_  
 _Who?_

_To: Nat_  
 _Bucky._

_From: Nat_  
 _Ask him._

_To: Nat_  
 _That seems weird…_

Steve looked up from his phone, watching Bucky as he waited for a reply. Bucky was laying on the couch, his hands behind his head. His messy hair was pulled into a loose bun, and a few strands fell into his eyes. His, now familiar, grey hoodie was unzipped to about midway down his chest, revealing a black t-shirt.

_From: Nat_  
 _More weird than texting me about it? Lol._

Steve huffed out an agitated breath, locking his phone. Nat had turned this into a joke. Even if she did know the answer, there was no way he was going to get it out of her now.

“You good there, punk?” Bucky asked from the couch, eyeing Steve as he sat on the counter.

“Fine, thanks Buck.” Steve twisted the phone around in his hands.

“What’s bothering you?” Bucky shuffled into a sitting position, frowning at Steve.

“Nothing,” Steve shrugged, “Aren’t you a bit warm?”

Bucky glanced down at his hoodie, pulling at the threads on his cotton glove nervously. He knew where Steve was going with this.

“It’s chilly in here.”

“I can turn up the heat,” Steve offered.

“No,” Bucky spoke quickly, “It’s fine. I like the cold.”

“Okay…” Steve raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to say more, but Bucky was already standing.

“I’m going to crash out. Goodnight, Steve.”

“Night, Bucky.” Steve sighed, looking back down to his phone. To his surprise, it vibrated in his hand.

_From: Clint Barton_  
 _He isn’t fully comfortable with the whole arm thing yet._

_To: Clint Barton_  
 _What?_

_From: Clint Barton_  
 _James. He’s pretty shy about his prosthetic still. Give him time._

Steve let out a tiny gasp. How had he not know?

_To: Clint Barton_  
 _Thanks, Clint._

_From: Clint Barton_  
 _Have a good night, Steve._

 

* * *

 

“You don’t have to say I was right, but please just say I was right.” Clint poured them both a small shot of whiskey in Steve’s kitchen. It was some kind of ‘everyone successfully moved into their new respective apartments’ party at Steve and Bucky’s. Steve knew he probably shouldn’t be drinking but it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. Steve was tiny, and by default, a lightweight.

“Right about what?” Steve raised the shot glass in the air, following Clint’s lead, toasting nothing in particular before taking the shot.

“About James,” Clint sputtered, slamming the empty shot glass down onto the table.

“What about him?” Steve coughed.

“You guys are like, BFFs now, I heard.”

“Clint, don’t say BFF,” Steve chastised, “And yeah I guess we’re getting along pretty well.”

“Hey, Barnes,” Clint called across the apartment. Bucky whipped his head up from where he was chatting with Sam in the living room, a beer in his hand. “Are you Steve’s BFF?”

“Does Steve want me to be his BFF?” Bucky replied, turning to face them full on. Sam was doubled over in laughter.

“Obviously.” Clint motioned to Steve’s huffy posture, his arms crossed over his chest in annoyance.

“Then yeah, totally.” Bucky winked at Steve, turning back to Sam and smiling, albeit a bit uncomfortably.

“Clint… Jesus…” Steve rubbed his temples, though he was trying his hardest to hold back laughter.

~

Everyone trickled out of the apartment just passed midnight. Steve waved goodbye to a more-than-tipsy Tony before closing and locking the door. When he returned to the living room, Bucky was curled up on the couch, face buried in a pillow.

Steve watched for a moment before speaking.

“I didn’t think you had that much to drink.”

“I didn’t,” Bucky whined, “That might be part of the problem.”

Steve stepped around the coffee table, sitting on the end of the couch not occupied by Bucky’s hunched form. The stress he was emanating was almost tangible. Steve’s head swam. He was definitely more drunk than he should have been.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Bucky said immediately, before deflating a bit, “No.”

“No?” Steve repeated.

“I can’t do it. Crowds like that. It’s exhausting.”

Steve mentally counted the amount of people at the get together. He came to a grand total of ten, including himself and Bucky. That was more than the tiny apartment could hold, perhaps, but it didn’t seem like an overwhelming amount to Steve. Even still, Bucky seemed miserable, and Steve felt guilty.

“Okay. No more parties, in that case.” He placed his hand on Bucky’s ankle and ran his thumb over the strong bones there in what he hopped was a comforting manner.

“Thank you.” Bucky whispered tiredly, relaxing beneath Steve’s touch.

 

* * *

 

Steve’s tattoo parlor was only a block from his apartment. It was pretty small, and while they had a fair amount of regular visitors, they were constantly struggling for money. Steve didn’t mind too much, though, because he was doing what he loved.

Peggy, whom he had also met in art school, was absolutely wonderful. She was tough as nails, exceptionally gorgeous, and reeled the customers in like no other. Her tattoos were to die for, in Steve’s opinion.

The shop itself was quaint, and homey. Steve played soft acoustic music, which he hoped calmed the nervous first timers, and Steve’s own artwork lined the walls that weren’t covered with windows or tattoo displays.

The first time Bucky visited the parlor, Steve was ecstatic. This seemed much more personal than anything they’d done, including moving in together. This was Steve’s pride he was putting on the line, and he only hoped Bucky was as in awe of the shop as Steve himself was.

Bucky wasn’t in for a tattoo, though he had expressed some interest in getting one from Steve eventually, they were dropping by to pick up Steve’s laptop, which he had left there when he closed up shop for the day. It was a Sunday, which meant they closed at noon unless something was specially arranged.

Bucky had offered to accompany Steve on the short walk to the shop, saying he could use the fresh air, which lead to Steve holding his breath as Bucky crossed the threshold. Bucky took in the sight of the place with a perceptive gaze, his chapped lips quirked upward in a tiny smile.

“Shit, Steve,” was all he said, his smile growing. Steve beamed.

“You like it?”

“I love it. Shoulda known you would play your shitty music in here, though.”

Steve continued to grin for a moment longer, before frowning. He spun around, surveying the shop, which was supposed to have been closed. The door had been locked, and the closed sign flipped. Music shouldn’t have been playing.

“Hello boys,” Peggy greeted, sweeping out of the back room, popping gum between his painted-red lips. She wore a tight black dress, her hair tied back by a red bandana.

“Peggy, hey, you scared me. I forgot you were staying late,” Steve chuckled, “Peggy, this is Bucky. Bucky, Peggy.”

Peggy nodded at Bucky as she ducked behind the counter.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. Steve talks about you plenty,” Steve blushed and shuffled where he was standing. Bucky turned away from the art he was inspecting on the nearest wall to smirk at Steve. “I actually meant to be out of here an hour ago, but the girl I was working on decided she wanted a lip piercing and I figured I could stay a bit extra.”

Steve nodded, distracted by the way Bucky was trailing his fingers along a painting he had done years ago. It was an artistic representation of the phases of the moon, one Steve didn’t care for much anymore but left hanging because people seemed to like it.

“I’m on my way out now, though,” Peggy continued, swinging her messenger bag over her tattooed shoulder. Peggy pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek and headed toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve. It was nice to meet you, Bucky. Perhaps next time we will actually get a chance to talk.”

Bucky returned her kind smile and nodded goodbye. Steve watched her hail a cab, before turning to Bucky.

“So, that’s Peggy,” he said. Bucky snorted.

“Obviously,” he chuckled, “Did you paint these?”

“Yeah, a long time ago. I don’t paint much anymore.”

“Why the fuck not?” Bucky’s eyes were comically wide.

“Dunno. Not a lot of space at the apartment for painting, I guess.”

“Fuck, Steve, you can turn my room into a studio. I’ll sleep on the damn floor.”

Steve shook his head, smiling at Bucky’s suggestion.

“Let me grab my laptop, then we can head out.”

Bucky nodded, and Steve disappeared into the back room. When he reemerged, Bucky was standing at the counter, looking at the studs they had available for assorted piercings. Peggy usually did the piercings. There was something about it Steve didn’t like.

“You have got to let me back in here sometime, Steve. This place is awesome.”

“Well, come get your tattoos fixed and you can stay as long as you’d like. I won’t even charge you.” Steve turned off the music, and began to turn out the lights.

“Deal.”

“Deal?”

“I already said deal, Jesus,” Bucky laughed, following Steve out the door. Once outside, Bucky spoke again. “So, I’ve gotta know.”

“Know what?” Steve asked, adjusting his laptop bag over his thin shoulder. Bucky had his hands in the pockets of his ever-present hoodie.

“What’s the deal with all the dames?”

“Dames? You mean Peggy?”

“And Natasha. I mean, even you can’t be so blind as to not notice that they’re gorgeous.”

“I’m going to ignore the insult you somehow managed to slip in there,” Steve bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s arm. It was his left one, and it felt hard under Steve’s shoulder. “And admit that yes, they are gorgeous. What of it?”

“Well, I mean, are you… How are you not…”

“Gay? Sleeping with them? Just ask the question, Buck,” Steve teased, watching Bucky squirm.

“Yeah, gay I guess. I don’t know. You don’t have to answer. It’s just…”

“You do know that it’s completely possible that I’m a straight male who  _isn't_  sleeping with my female friends.”

“I know that!” Bucky defended. Steve chuckled.

“Also, both women are in relationships and I’m not particularly fond of ruining that type of thing.”

“Jesus, Steve, it was just a question.” Bucky folded in on himself, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head. Steve pressed his shoulder against Bucky’s arm again, not playful like last time, but comfortingly.

“So to answer your question -- or questions -- no, I’m not sleeping with them. I’m not gay either. I’m asexual.”

Bucky whipped his head up at the admission, eyeing Steve carefully.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm,” Steve hummed, nodding.

“So, like, no sex? At all?” Bucky stopped in front of their building, letting Steve climb the stairs before him.

“Well, I’ve had it, I just don’t like it.”

“And no dates?”

“I’m not _against_ going on dates,” Steve began to unlock the door, shifting his bag again, “It’s just that dates usually lead to sex.”

“Okay,” Bucky murmured, following Steve through the door. Steve set his laptop down on the countertop and smiled at Bucky gently, as if to let him know it was okay to ask more questions. “This is all making more sense now.”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, hopping onto the counter and tilting his head to the side in askance.

“Well, yeah, I mean, you’re so…” Bucky gestured helplessly, before dropping his hands, “Well you’re you, and it didn’t make sense to me why you hadn’t been completely swept off your feet by now.”

“I’m me?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. You’re you,” Bucky said, as though that explained everything. 

 

* * *

 

Clint was a neuroscience major in college. People found that odd, since his current occupation was teaching archery at the local community center. It was almost like neurology was something the Clint was interested in knowing, but not in pursuing as a career.

As a result, Clint paid homage to his degree by getting a [watercolor tattoo of a motor neuron](http://33.media.tumblr.com/22266b1a4f7c3c68c1c470ec58e7195c/tumblr_n88asphWeB1re0mg0o1_1280.jpg) on his left shoulder. It was extremely vivid, which meant it needed touching up pretty often. He was leaning forward at Steve’s station, talking animatedly as Steve added the finishing touches on yet another recoloring.

“He told me that you were singing Queen yesterday,” Clint laughed.

“I don’t think I like Bucky texting you about what I do within the privacy of my own home.”

“Hey, it’s his home too you know,” Clint said, “And don’t lie. You love it.”

“Definitely don’t love it. Okay, I think you’re done.” Steve leaned back, reaching for the Vaseline.

“Thank man. Anyway, what about you? You like rooming with him?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great, I feel like we’re getting pretty close. He hasn’t taken off the hoodie yet,” Clint pulled a face and Steve backtracked, “Well I mean he takes it off, but he always wears long sleeves. What I meant to say is he hasn’t showed me his arm yet.”

“Oh, well that’s not really unusual. I’ve only seen it a handful of times, myself.”

“I just, I thought we were getting to a point of trust, you know?”

“He trusts you, Steve, it’s just… different. For him. I don’t know. He will eventually. And even if he doesn’t, what does it matter?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. What about you and Nat? How’s that going?”

“Oh it’s great. She steals all the blankets and never helps with dishes and it’s just great,” Clint didn’t sound the least bit sarcastic. The grin on his face could only be described as lovestruck.

“If you cook her spaghetti, you can pull the ‘I made you your favorite meal’ card and she’ll do the dishes for the next, like, two nights.” Clint snorted.

“That’s a start. Thanks, Steve.”

“Sure thing, Clint. See you around.”

Clint gave a mock salute after slipping his shirt back on. Steve returned it half-heartedly and began the disinfecting process.

 

* * *

 

Living with Bucky had a gentle sort of familiarity. Steve especially enjoyed their morning routine. It was nice to wake up and know that Bucky would already have made their morning coffee, dark and flavorful like he liked it. He would smile at Steve from whatever held his interest, whether it was the television or a book or his phone, and call out good morning.

Steve would make himself toast and chat with Bucky about his clients for that afternoon, or Tony’s latest drama. Steve liked waking up to someone, and Bucky was more than happy to be that someone.

Until one morning he wasn’t there. Steve stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning. He opened his mouth to greet his roommate, but his roommate was suspiciously absent. The coffee wasn’t made, and when Steve looked back in the direction of the bedrooms, Bucky’s door was closed.

It wasn’t like Bucky was obligated to make coffee for Steve, or be awake when he left, or even talk to him at all, but Steve couldn’t help but feeling put out by the whole situation.

He made himself coffee and didn’t chat with anyone over the steaming cup.

After showering and getting dressed, Steve rapped his knuckles against Bucky’s door. “Hey Buck,” he called through the wood, “I’m going to be headed to work soon. You need anything?”

Bucky made a soft, grumbling noise, and Steve frowned. He pushed the door open gently.

“Bucky?”

Bucky was a mess of blankets and tangled dark hair. He was cocooned in the sheets, completely buried under his comforter. Steve smiled at the sight.

“What?” Bucky muttered, the lump of blankets shuffling a bit.

“Are you sick?”

“Go away, Steve.”

Steve was slightly taken aback by that, but didn’t want to argue.

“Okay. Um, well, I’ll see you later then…” Steve backed out of the room, closing the door quietly.

~

It was not an unusual occurrence for Steve’s shop to be bombarded with people who decidedly _weren't_ getting tattoos. Or piercings. Or spending any money in the shop at all.

“Tony, get off the counter,” Steve scolded, “I do have customers, you know?”

“Not at the moment you don’t,” Clint chirped.

“To be fair, you only have one more appointment today,” Peggy added from where she was prepping a piercing needle.

“Yeah, only one more,” Tony echoed, “Which means you can come out with us tonight.”

“I don’t know. I think I’m going to pass.” Steve didn't particularly feel like going to the bar tonight. Besides, Bucky’s sour mood that morning had put a damper on Steve’s day.

“God, ever since you got that new roommate you aren't any fun,” Tony whined. Tony was the rich kid of the group. That meant that he whined too much, and felt entitled to everybody else’s constant attention. He was generous with his money though, so that was a bonus.

“Bucky doesn’t like going out much.”

“And that affects you, how?” Natasha asked, raising a sculpted eyebrow.

“Well, it doesn’t, I guess, but I just..”

“Where is Bucky today?” Peggy asked. Bucky had been following Steve to work more and more frequently. He didn't stay for the whole day, just a few hours in the morning, or he would stop by around lunch with coffee and doughnuts.

“I think I made him mad. Or he’s sick. Or something.” Steve sounded a bit miserable.

“Yeah?” Clint looked up from his phone, suddenly interested, “Is he in a mood?”

“In a mood?” Steve asked.

“Who are we talking about?” Thor asked, confused.

“Steve’s BFF,” Natasha answered, and Steve stared at her with a look of complete betrayal.

“Nat, not you too,” Natasha shrugged and Steve huffed before turning to Thor, “He’s my roommate. You haven’t met him yet. I’ll introduce you soon.”

This seemed to please Thor, and he grinned before continuing to stare at the ink pots.

“He get’s like that sometimes,” Clint continued, “Ever since he got back. He just gets sad sometimes. It’s nothing you did wrong.”

“Oh.”

“Bring him tea. And ask if he wants to watch a movie. He might not say yes, and even if he does, don’t expect him to talk. But that usually cheers him up a bit.”

“Really?” Steve asked, sitting up a straighter, suddenly eager to get home.

“God, did you see the way his eyes lit up just now,” Tony muttered to Bruce, “Disgusting.” Bruce shoved Tony’s arm and Tony shoved back.

“Sure,” Clint shrugged, “Just don’t be condescending towards him or anything. That will upset him.”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t. Yeah,” Steve stood and peered around the shop in search of Peggy, or a clock. “Peggy, what time is my next appointment?”

“Oh just go, you fucker,” Peggy smirked at him with sharply painted lips, her eyes wicked, “I’ll take your three o’clock. Go make tea for your boyfriend.”

Steve nodded.

“Thanks so much, Peggy,” Steve began collecting his bag, “Sorry guys, but I’m not coming out tonight.”

“We know,” Natasha grinned.

“Obviously,” Tony muttered.

“Oh and Steve,” Peggy called, and Steve stopped beside her as he made his way toward the door, “Boil the water in the kettle. Don’t put it in the microwave this time. Bucky deserves better than that.”

“I, Peggy, Jesus, that was one time,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck.

“And I’m still not over that one time,” Peggy motioned for Steve to lean down, and he obliged. She pressed her lips to his cheek, like usual, and smirked again.

“You make tea in the microwave, Steve?” Thor asked.

“I did once,” Steve argued.

“That’s blasphemous,” Tony gasped.

“You don’t even drink tea,” Steve said in exasperation, “Nevermind, whatever, I’m leaving. Bye.”

Steve left the shop to a chorus of “goodbyes” and one “learn how to make tea, you hippie” from Tony.

~

Once home, there was still no sign of Bucky. It didn't seem like he had left his room at all while Steve was gone. Steve set his bag on the counter and set to work on boiling water, in the kettle as instructed. He rummaged through the cupboards for tea, shaking water droplets from his hair. The rain was starting to pick up outside. It was only fitting that Steve was making tea.

Once he steeped it and added just a bit of honey, he made his way to Bucky’s room. He hesitated outside the door for a moment, before knocking quietly. There was the same grumbled reply from earlier.

“Can I come in?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s soft mumbling noise didn’t seem overly negative, so Steve figured that was a yes.

“I brought you tea,” Steve offered awkwardly, setting it down on Bucky’s bedside table. He was tangled in the blankets just as he had been when Steve left. This time he peered out at Steve, his eyes rimmed with purple dark circles, and his brow furrowed.

“Tea?” He croaked, his voice rough from sleep and lack of use. Steve nodded. Bucky sat up a bit and collected the mug from the table, still frowning. Steve shifted on his feet.

“I was, uh, going to watch a movie or something, if you wanted to join me. We could watch one of those foreign films you like. If you want,” Steve stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Bucky’s gaze was a bit dangerous.

“I don’t like foreign films,” Bucky growled.

“You don’t? I thought… you asked if they were allowed… I thought that meant you liked them…”

“No. I just wanted to know if they were allowed, since Clint made it clear they weren’t,” Bucky sipped his tea, “Speaking of Clint, he told you to do this, didn’t he?”

“I, um, he…” Steve sputtered, “Yes. Yeah, he did.”

“I knew it. So what? He told you to make me tea and then you rushed home in the rain and did it?” Bucky scowled.

“Yes,” Steve squeaked.

“Good one, Steve. Just left your clients hanging or what?”

“Peggy said she’d cover for me,” Steve sighed, “Look, I’m sorry. Forget it. Go back to sleep, or whatever you were doing. I just… wanted to make you feel better, that’s all.”

Steve didn’t wait for a response, slipping from the room and closing the door behind him. Steve collapsed on the couch, pulling his knees to his chest and letting out a deep sigh. His clothes were still damp, and he knew he should probably change, but he was too miserable to feel like getting up. He stared at the dark television, listening to the rain against the window pane.

Finally, he turned the television on, and relaxed against the couch. Television might be able to keep his mind off Bucky for a while.

Steve was startled by the sound of Bucky’s door opening. He listened to the soft sound of feet shuffling across the carpet, and only turned to face Bucky once the sound had stopped. He was standing still in the doorway, cocooned in his comforter. He was still scowling, but Steve felt hopeful as he moved toward the couch.

Steve didn’t say a word as Bucky dropped his pillow, which he pulled from the depths of his blanket, into Steve’s lap. Bucky then flopped onto the couch, resting his head on the pillow, and pulling the blanket around himself.

Steve stared down at a lapful of Bucky, a bit shocked, but not upset.

“Well, it’s good to see that you brought your entire bed with you.”

“Shaddup,” Bucky drawled, his Brooklyn accent more pronounced than Steve had ever heard.

Steve dropped his hand to Bucky’s arm, which felt hard beneath his palm. Bucky’s flesh and blood arm was buried beneath him. Steve rubbed his thumb along Bucky’s bicep, feeling the prosthetic even through the layers of fabric. Bucky stiffened, and Steve froze.

“Sorry,” Steve muttered, removing his hand.

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky whispered, tucking himself closer to Steve. Steve hesitated a moment before replacing his hand, and resuming the gentle motion. Bucky let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I invaded your privacy.”

“No, don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Bucky closed his eyes, turning slightly to bury his face in the pillow. His voice was muffled when he spoke next. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steve didn’t respond, choosing instead to drink in the sight of Bucky like this. He looked so vulnerable, almost fragile. Steve was suddenly very scared he would break Bucky without meaning to.

“You don’t have to hide it, you know?” Steve said finally.

“Hide what?” Bucky’s voice was still muffled against the pillow.

“Your arm. I know what prosthetics look like. I’m not… going to judge you if that’s what you’re scared of.”

Bucky pulled away slightly, turning so his eyes met Steve’s. They were such a cold blue, and as they flicked across Steve’s face, Steve felt small. Well, even more small than he usually did.

“I know,” Bucky said honestly. “I just don’t want you to see it. Not yet.”

“Okay,” Steve didn’t miss the final word and the connotation it held, “That’s fine.”

Bucky groaned and rolled back over, burying his face once more. “I hate how sincere you always sound,” he moaned. Steve chuckled and returned to rubbing comforting circles in Bucky’s arm with his thumb. Outside, the sky continued to rain.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had bad days (but to be fair, everyone has bad days), and Steve was learning how to handle them. Some nights when he woke screaming from night terrors, Steve would leave a steaming cup of tea on his bedside table while Bucky caught his breath in the bathroom. Other times when Bucky holed up in his bedroom, Steve would coax him out with home-cooked meals and gentle teasing.

Steve was nowhere near good at handling them, but he was learning, and that was all Bucky could ask for. Steve was kind and quiet, he never watched movies with loud gunshots or explosions, and when thunder cracked outside Steve always made sure to squeeze Bucky’s shoulder just to remind him where he was.

When Clint’s birthday rolled around in late September, Bucky made sure to buy him an extra large bag of tootsie rolls, because Clint ate those things up like a madman, as a unspoken thank you for introducing him to the person who was quickly becoming the best thing in his whole damn life.

 

* * *

 

_From: Clint Barton_  
 _Are you in the shop today?_

_To: Clint Barton_  
 _Yeah, why?_

_From: Clint Barton_  
 _Is James with you?_

_To: Clint Barton_  
 _Yes?_

_From: Clint Barton_  
 _Sweet. I’m going to stop by in a few. Need to talk to you guys._

“And like I was reading this one comic where it was like his parents never died, you know? It was pretty wild, because-” Bucky seemed to notice Steve wasn’t listening, and most likely hadn’t been listening for a majority of the story. “What?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.

Clint just texted me. He’s going to stop by apparently he wants to talk to us about something.”

“Probably another intervention,” Bucky shrugged, spinning around on the stool he was sitting at. “He’s given me like six of those in the past month.”

“Intervention?” Steve asked, not looking up from the drawing he was working on. Bucky had asked him to design something “elaborate and totally fucking rad” for his right arm to cover the small wing tattoo he had gotten before joining the army. Steve was in between clients at the moment, chatting with Bucky and idly working on the design. Bucky was chatting excitedly about… something.

“Yeah, he wants me to get a job,” Bucky said. Steve frowned and glanced at him briefly. Bucky was doing fine on his army pension and disability money. It wasn’t like they had a plethora of money or anything, but they were getting by. Besides, Steve liked what they had. Bucky getting a job would only interrupt that.

“Is he your mother now or what?” Steve teased.

“Well, I wouldn’t say _now_ ,” Bucky laughed, “He’s kind of always been my mom.”

“I could say the same about Natasha,” Steve brushed some eraser shavings off the counter, “Anyway, you could just work here.”

“Really?” Bucky perked up.

“I wouldn’t be able to pay you very much. Or anything at all really,” Steve adjusted his glasses nervously, “But you’re here all the time anyway. So, you might as well just call it a job.”

“I don’t care about the money. Clint says it’s more about the routine than anything. He thinks it would help me, I don’t know, adjust better or something if I had a routine.”

“Just make it your routine to come here everyday. Not just sometimes.”

“We’ll talk more about it later,” Bucky grinned.

The door clicked open, and Clint entered just behind a group of three young girls. They walked to the counter, where Peggy sat ready to take down appointments. Clint slipped behind the counter and grinned at Steve and Bucky.

“Alright, are you guys ready for this?” He asked, slipping his sunglasses into his bag and dropping it onto the chair next to Bucky.

“Ready for what?” Steve asked. Bucky just shrugged.

Steve and Bucky watched in confusion as Clint slipped to one knee, directly in front of Bucky’s stool, and pulled out a small silver box. When it popped open, everyone in the shop, including the three girls at the counter, stared in awe at the simple silver wedding band. The diamond wasn’t huge, yet still elegant.

“Well,” Bucky deadpanned, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I don’t think Natasha is going to be too happy about us eloping, but she’ll adjust.”

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Clint asked, biting his lip in excitement.

“Jesus, Clint, yeah,” Steve laughed, “She’ll love it.”

“When are you proposing?” Bucky asked.

“Sometime this week, hopefully. I don’t want to do it in public, so I don’t really have a set plan.”

“I’m guessing this is what you came here to talk to us about?” Bucky confirmed. Clint nodded. “Well, congratulations.”

“She hasn’t said yes yet,” Clint pointed out.

“But she will,” Steve assured.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing you guys. It just, feels like I should you know? I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Then do it,” Bucky shrugged. Clint grinned.

“I will. Thanks guys. I’m heading back to the apartment now. I just picked this up from the jewelers and figured I would stop by and give you guys the heads up.” Clint returned the box to the safety of his bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Glad you did,” Steve smiled. Bucky nodded in agreement.

“Well, I’ll let you know how it goes. Oh, and Rogers, probably best to not talk to Nat until this is over and done with, okay?”

“What?” Steve asked, taken aback, “Why?”

“It’s just… You’re a really shitty liar, and I really, _really_ feel like this should be a surprise.”

“Oh, yeah, sure thing.”

“Thanks,” Clint waved a quick goodbye before ducking out the door.

Steve slapped Bucky’s arm, who was doubled over in gasping laughter. He had his hands splayed across his thighs, the tip of his nose almost brushing his knees.

“Shut the hell up, Bucky.”

“He’s so totally right,” Bucky gasped, wiping away stray tears, “Jesus, your fucking face.”

Steve glared at his friend, before returning to Bucky’s tattoo design. His hands were shaking slightly, though, and he put the pencil down for a moment longer, flexing his fingers. Emotions pooled in his stomach, part excitement and part despair. To the soundtrack of Bucky struggling to catch his breath, Peggy prepping the needles, and the excited chatter of the three girls, Steve felt his best friend slipping away between his fingers.

Steve’s hands stopped shaking about the time Bucky stopped laughing, both of them containing their respective emotions. Steve picked the pencil up again, and Bucky leaned against the table, watching Steve work. Bucky enjoyed watching Steve’s hands when he drew. He had artists hands, and Bucky liked the way the delicate bones moved beneath pale skin.

“So,” Bucky began finally, “Marriage, huh? Pretty big deal.”

Steve grunted in response. Bucky was quiet for one moment more, sensing his friend’s distress.

“You happy for them, Steve?”

“Of course I am,” Steve smiled at Bucky, but it was the cold smile he only gave when he was tearing himself apart inside. Bucky hated it.

“It’s okay if you’re upset about this. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not upset about it, Bucky,” Steve drummed his fingers on the tabletop in agitation, “They’re going to get married. I mean, of course I’m happy about that. Why would I be upset?”

“Because you feel like you’re losing her. I get it. I’m losing someone too, you know,” Bucky sounded so sympathetic it tore Steve apart inside. Steve put the pencil down again, and watched Bucky carefully, searching his cold blue eyes for any kind of judgement. There was none.

“I’m not in love with her, Buck,” Steve said finally.

“I know that.”

“Then-”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t feel like you’re losing her. You told me that first night we went to dinner that you knew you guys wouldn't live together forever, but you kind of wished you did. It’s the same thing. She’s moving on in her life, and you feel like she’s going to forget about you.”

Steve groaned, dropping his head to the table with a loud thunk. Bucky pressed a warm hand to the space between Steve’s shoulder blades. Steve shivered beneath the touch, relishing in the comfort it gave.

“It just feels like the whole world, and everyone in it, is changing around me and all I can do is watch,” Steve muttered honestly. Bucky rubbed small circles into Steve’s back and sighed.

“I know what you mean, punk.”

“Bucky,” Steve began suddenly, sitting up straight. Bucky dropped his head and watched Steve carefully. “How do you feel about getting spectacularly drunk tonight?”

“With who?” Bucky asked.

“Just you and me,” Steve’s grin was wicked.

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Bucky grinned as well, “I’m so down.”

~

The pair stopped at the store on the way home. Between them they carried an 18 pack of cheap beer and a fifth of whiskey back to the apartment. Steve made sure they ate dinner before starting to drink so the wouldn’t regret it _too_ much come tomorrow. Bucky made jokes about him being the responsible one.

“Where the fuck are our shot glasses?” Bucky asked, rummaging through the cupboards, “Do we even own shot glasses?”

Steve sat crosslegged on the counter, his arm resting on the torn box of beer. The bottle of whiskey rested at his feet. Bucky had chosen the music for tonight, and it played softly in the kitchen. Well, as softly as one can play Green Day. Usually Steve would have complained about the choice, but he was just angry enough tonight to enjoy Bucky’s music.

“Fuck shot glasses,” Steve laughed, patting the counter in front of him, “Come sit.”

Bucky obeyed, clambering onto the counter top and crossing his legs just as Steve was. Bucky grabbed the whiskey and twisted off the top carefully. He raised the bottle up slightly, as if to make a toast.

“To being anachronisms in a world that doesn’t give a fuck about us,” he grinned, taking a quick gulp, and passing it to Steve.

“To staying immature and irresponsible,” Steve toasted, taking his own shot. Bucky grabbed Steve’s beer from where it sat near his left foot, having not yet opened his own. He washed down his whiskey, before offering the beer back to Steve. Steve waved it away, opening a new one for himself, instead.

“Well, I mean, as immature and irresponsible as two adults with jobs and rent can be,” Bucky corrected.

“You’re killing my moment here, Buck,” Steve chuckled.

“Tell me about Natasha,” Bucky ignored Steve’s comment. “Like, how she was before I knew her.”

“She was fucking fantastic. I mean, she’s still fantastic, but it’s different now. It’s like she went and grew up without me. She used to talk about getting married like it was the plague. She was always saying that she didn’t believe in it,” Steve chuckled sadly, taking another long drink from his beer, “I think about it now and realize that was probably because she was actually a romantic at heart, you know? She didn’t want me to know though, so she hid it behind lies. That’s how she is. She hides herself a lot.”

Bucky nodded, spinning his can between his hands. His lips were bright red from the way he was chewing on them as he listened, and Steve stared more than he should have.

“And now look at her. She’s going to marry the first guy who proposes to her.”

“Well, to be fair, Clint is also going to marry the first girl he proposes to,” Bucky offered, taking another shot of whiskey. Steve laughed at that.

“Generally that is how proposing goes, Buck. You usually propose to the person you intend to marry. But I appreciate the sentiment,” Steve said, taking the alcohol from Bucky when he offered it.

“And what about you?” Bucky asked, “When she was saying all this about marriage, how were you replying?”

“Do you mean did I agree with her?”

“Yeah,” Bucky hummed along to the music.

“Well, no, but I didn’t really have to,” Steve shrugged, “Marriage hasn’t really ever been in the picture for me.”

“Why not?”

“No one wants to marry someone who won’t have sex with them, Buck.”

“Why not?” Bucky sounded like a broken record.

“Because,” Steve rolled his eyes, tipping back his beer, “that’s just not how things work.”

“But you _do_ want to get married, though?” Bucky asked.

“Sure,” Steve shrugged one shoulder, reaching across to fix the drawstring on Bucky’s hoodie, which was flipped over his shoulder, “I mean, I like people romantically. Just not sexually.”

“And if you met someone who wanted to date you, but not have sex with you?”

“Then, I guess, hypothetically, I might date them. And marry them. But you make it sound like there are people lining up to get a piece of me,” Steve laughed, “and there definitely isn’t.”

Bucky shrugged. “I bet you could find someone if you tried.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve watched the way Bucky licked his teeth with interest, “But I’m not really looking.”

Bucky hummed again, finishing off his beer. Steve finished his own, and took note of the effects of the alcohol he was beginning to feel.

“So, you like people, but you just don’t want to bone them?” Bucky asked. Apparently it was honesty hour.

“Well, yeah, everyone has people like that. I think. I mean, don’t you ever see someone and your first thought is like, ‘I want to cook them breakfast someday,’ and then later you realize you want to sleep with them?”

“I guess.”

“Well, that second part just never happens for me.”

“I think I understand,” Bucky frowned, “But like, never?”

“Not so far in my experience, no.”

“That’s…”

“Weird?” Steve finished, smirking.

“Not really. Just different,” Bucky smiled, passing Steve the bottle. Steve took it and raised it up in another toast.

“To understanding each other's sexualities,” Steve toasted, but the bottle taken from him before he could take a drink. He frowned at Bucky, who raised the bottle in a toast of his own.

“Correction: For understanding Steve’s sexuality and not yet my own.” Bucky took a shot, and passed it to Steve before Steve could question what he had just said. Steve took the shot before speaking again.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m not quite sure what I like.”

“Do you like dames?” Steve asked.

“Oh, sure, before the war I loved ‘em. Guys too,” Bucky leaned forward, crowding Steve’s personal space in order to grab a fresh beer, “Now? I’m not so sure.”

“I don’t… I don’t think I understand,” Steve confessed.

“I don’t think you and I are that different,” Bucky said honestly, watching Steve through his long lashes, “And I don’t know if I’m just telling you this ‘cause I’m a bit buzzed or because I actually want you to know, but I’m going to say it anyway.”

“Okay,” Steve waited patiently for Bucky, who stretched one leg out on the counter, his foot resting by Steve’s hip.

“Ever since, you know, all the shit that happened over there, I uh, don’t… Um…” Bucky cleared his throat, “My, y’know, sex drive has been awfully quiet.”

“Oh,” Steve gasped, straightening up, “That’s not unusual, you know? After experiencing great stress, that happens a lot. To a lot of people. It’s not, well I guess it isn’t exactly _good_ , but it isn’t bad.”

“I know that,” Bucky laughed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

“Well, there’s plenty of drugs out there to help with that, and I’m sure it will come back eventually,” Steve chattered, as if they weren’t talking about Bucky’s inability to get it up.

“I’m not that worried about it, really,” Bucky shrugged, “It is what it is, I guess.”

Steve smiled encouragingly and his friend, and sipped his beer thoughtfully. Bucky watched as well, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“Nothing. I’m just really glad you moved in here,” Steve blushed at the statement. He didn’t feel so embarrassed when he saw the way Bucky preened under the compliment, however.

“Yeah, I am too. You big sap.”

 

* * *

 

_To: Buck_  
 _Natasha just called me about the engagement. She said yes._

_From: Buck_  
 _You knew she would._

_To: Buck_  
 _There’s an engagement party this weekend at Stark’s. They want you to go._

_From: Buck_  
 _Nnnnggggggggghhhhh._

_To: Buck_  
 _I know. I’ll be home soon. We’ll talk about it then._

 

* * *

 

“You know, this would be a lot easier if you just took off the hoodie, Buck,” Steve argued, tugging at the sleeve of Bucky’s jacket. Bucky was sat in the red leather chair of Steve’s station, his fingers tight around the hem of his hoodie.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair in agitation at the sight of Bucky’s panicked expression. It reminded him of that first night in the restaurant. Steve adjusted his glasses and sighed.

“Okay, how about you go take off your undershirt, and then we can just unzip the hoodie, and you can keep your arm covered, okay?” Steve placated, “The left half of your body being covered shouldn’t be a problem.”

Relief washed over Bucky as he stood from the chair, smiling softly at Steve. Steve watched him disappear into the bathroom and began to prep the needles.

The design of Bucky’s tattoo consisted of only black ink. Steve had designed half a dozen tattoos to cover the tiny wing emblem on his bicep that he had gotten just before enlisting. He said there used to be a matching pair, one on each arm. Bucky settled on a [bird emerging from a cage](http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/200x150/9b/e4/3f/9be43f648d2e25e8ecf084720d8714ed.jpg). It wasn’t very original, but Bucky said it reminded him that he was out now, and his time overseas was past. Steve couldn’t care less what the tattoo was of, he was just honored to be allowed to mark Bucky in such a way.

Bucky kept his left shoulder covered as Steve worked, and kept up a mostly-constant stream of chatter as Steve worked. Steve ran his hands over Bucky’s scarred skin and wondered how he got so lucky.

~

As it seemed to be the way of things for the two men, the night was much less peaceful than the day. They returned home, Bucky drunk on the adrenaline of a new tattoo and Steve more-than-smitten over his roommate. They talked their way through dinner, Bucky bid Steve goodnight, and they both disappeared into their separate bedrooms.

Steve sat awake in his bed, working on some commission work for a client. The soft tap of knuckles against the already open door surprised him, and he looked up at Bucky from his glasses, which perched at the tip of his nose.

“Hey Buck, what’s up?” Steve asked, taking in the sight of Bucky standing there, his left arm wrapped around his stomach and looking completely distraught. “Is everything okay?”

“Can I come in?” Bucky asked, his voice wrecked.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Steve said, pushing the notebook he was working in off his lap and sitting up straighter, resting against the headboard. Bucky crossed the room in two long strides, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed. Steve watched him carefully, waiting for him to speak.

“I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” He asked, not meeting Steve’s gaze.

“About what?”

“About my fucking arm,” Bucky growled, clenching his gloved hand into a fist.

“It’s not ridiculous if it means something to you, Buck.”

Bucky dropped his head to his hands and let out a tired laugh. “Why the hell are you so good all the time, Rogers?”

Steve scooted closer to him on the bed, reaching out a hand to rub Bucky’s back. They stayed like that for a long time, sharing body heat on the cold October evening.

Finally, Bucky looked up, watching Steve through watery eyes. Steve gave him a gentle smile, hoping it conveyed every ounce of respect and adoration he felt for Bucky. Bucky let out a deep sigh and unzipped his hoodie, slowly shrugging it from his shoulders.

Bucky didn’t look away from Steve’s eyes until his arm was completely exposed, both the sweater and the glove removed. Steve only broke eye contact when Bucky did. He inspected the arm, reaching out slowly to touch it. Bucky didn’t flinch away, his head bowed.

“Bucky,” Steve breathed, running his fingers over the jointed metal. The chrome shined brightly even in the dim light of the bedroom. Steve traced the spots where the metal plates met one another, the crevasses there. Steve twisted his fingers around Bucky’s, feeling the way the metal shifted at his touch.

“It’s gorgeous,” Steve said finally. Bucky let out a wet laugh. “No, really Buck. This isn’t just science, this is art.”

Steve raised Bucky metal fingers to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss on the knuckles, then the palm. Bucky had raised his gaze, watching Steve carefully.

“Can you feel that?” Steve asked, tracing the shape of Bucky’s knuckles.

“Kind of. I can feel the pressure. Not textures or temperatures.”

Steve pressed another kiss to his palm, harder this time, so he was sure to feel it. Bucky whimpered slightly, fisting his flesh and blood hand into Steve’s shirt.

The room felt heavy with an intimacy that neither man had truly experienced before now. Where sex was loud and prideful, this was quiet and understated; it spoke of warmth and support that both men craved, and had somehow found in each other.

 

* * *

 

Steve watched Bucky fidget in front of the mirror, his hands adjusting the collar of his jacket, and then resting at his side for a moment, before reaching to his collar again. He tugged on it in agitation then sighed.

“No one is going to be heartbroken if you don’t go, Buck,” Steve offered from where he sat on Bucky’s bed, watching Bucky fret in front of his floor length mirror.

“My hair really need to be cut,” Bucky tucked a long strand behind his ear.

“Yeah, I guess it could use a trim,” Steve conceded, “But don’t ignore me. I mean it, you don’t have to go.”

“Do I even look good in this jacket?” Bucky asked, turning to face Steve, his arms raised at his sides.

Bucky wore a worn black leather jacket over a white button up. Steve beckoned for him to come closer. Bucky crossed the room, standing at the foot of the bed, where Steve sat tall on his knees, adjusting where Bucky had ruffled the collar of his shirt. Steve eyed him for a moment before unbuttoning the top two buttons, relaxing the outfit as a whole.

“You look very handsome,” Steve said honestly, smoothing his hands over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky ducked his head, pressing his forehead to Steve’s.

“I want to go,” Bucky said, finally responding to Steve’s earlier comments. Steve nodded, pulling away from Bucky. Since that night in Steve’s bedroom, the pair was much more tactile with each other, offering support through intimate touches and soft caresses.

“Then let’s do this thing,” Steve smiled, hooking his index finger around Bucky’s and dragging him from the house.

~

As it was to be expected, the party was disgustingly grand and no doubt expensive. Stark had a full bar, complete with must have been a grossly overpaid bartender. There were decorations all along the walls and elegant music and Steve almost puked the moment he walked in.

“I don’t even know why there’s all this shit here,” Clint said to Bucky and Steve once they had settled in, “I mean, there are waiters with hors d'oeuvres. I don’t want any of that bullshit.”

“Does Nat?” Steve asked, watching Bucky pick at the bead-like decorations draped over the snack table.

“I don’t know. She better. I mean, she’s the one who let Stark throw this fucking thing. She better be happy with it.”

"I need whiskey,” Bucky announced, looking at Steve with pleading eyes.

“I’m with you on that one,” Steve nodded, “To the bar?”

“To the bar,” Bucky agreed. They nodded to Clint and pushed through the crowd, finding their way to the decorative bar.

“Two shots of whiskey, please,” Steve ordered, Bucky standing nervously behind him. “Actually, make that four.”

They took their shots quickly, one after another, before ducking through the throngs of people, most of whom they had never met, to a mostly empty stretch of wall. Steve stumbled a bit, the alcohol already taking effect.

“God, that was good whiskey,” Bucky praised, leaning against the wall. Steve copied him, their shoulders brushing.

“You doing okay?” Steve asked.

“Are you?” Bucky countered.

“Fair enough,” Steve nodded. “Let’s see if we can find Nat.”

Bucky groaned but followed Steve’s lead. They crept their way into one of the many sitting rooms, looking for the woman of the hour. They were unsuccessful, but they did find the emptiest room in the house. Only Bruce and Pepper sat in large armchairs, chatting with each other. Steve and Bucky took seats next to their friends and started up an easy conversation.

Thor crashed into the room sometime later, grinning, a half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his hand. “Steve!” He boomed, joining them at the table. Steve smiled, giving Thor a nod in greeting.

“Thor, this is Bucky. Bucky, Thor,” Steve motioned between the two, trying not to laugh at Bucky’s slightly terrified expression as they shook hands, Thor’s engulfing Bucky’s.

“It is my pleasure,” Thor grinned, “And I wish to get to know you better in the future, but for now I must find the owner of this lovely home.”

Thor stood, gone just as quickly as he had come. Pepper laughed, admitting that she should probably find Tony as well. Bruce stayed for a moment more, before muttering something about trying to find the bathroom. All that was left of the table was Steve, Bucky, and Thor’s bottle of whiskey.

“Where’d he even get this?” Bucky asked.

“He’s Thor. He get’s whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bucky laughed, taking a shot. Steve shook his head when Bucky offered it.

“Maybe the key to getting over these situations is getting wasted.”

“That’s called alcoholism, Buck, and I suggest not trying it.”

Bucky laughed, taking another drink. Steve hopped up on the buffet table along the South wall, watching Bucky’s smooth movements. Bucky eyed Steve over the bottle. Once Bucky set the bottle down, he grinned.

“I see it’s not just our counter that you feel the need to violate.”

“Apparently not,” Steve laughed. Bucky walked closer, placing his hands on either side of Steve’s legs. Steve sat still, waiting to see what Bucky was doing.

“Steve,” Bucky muttered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Steve’s thin chest. Steve could smell the alcohol on him, but he didn’t mind. He reached up, threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky rubbed his nose against Steve’s sharp chestplate, pressing forward. Steve spread his legs a bit wider, fitting Bucky’s hips between his knees. Bucky’s belt was pressed against the edge of the counter.

“Mmmm,” Steve hummed, almost in askance.

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky asked, his voice muffled by the thick fabric of Steve’s sweater.

“Yes,” Steve breathed, feeling relieved and scared all at once.

Bucky tipped his face upward, standing up tall. His eyes bore into Steve’s, and it wasn’t the alcohol making him feel warm. Steve was the one that ultimately leaned forward, pressing his lips to Bucky’s softly. Bucky froze for a moment, letting Steve take control. Steve did so elegantly, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair and fitting his gentle lips to Bucky’s. There was no tongue involved, just the warm press of skin.

They pulled away to the British, oddly human, voice from the ceiling.

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes,” JARVIS greeted politely, “Mr. Stark requests your presence in the main hall.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Steve replied, grinning at Bucky’s confused expression.

“Did the ceiling just cockblock me?” Bucky asked as Steve hoped from the counter.

“That’s JARVIS. He’s Tony’s computer servant surveillance… thing,” Steve attempted to explain, slipping his fingers between Bucky’s metal ones. They were covered by his cotton glove, but Steve could still tell that they were different than his own. Not that he minded, of course. “And to be fair, you weren’t getting any, anyway.”

“Details, details,” Bucky hummed, “I’m more concerned with the talking nothingness. Very ‘Big Brother is watching’, if you ask me.”

Steve laughed as they entered the main room, searching for Tony. If possible, it was even more crowded than before. Tony spotted them almost instantly, somehow, and beckoned them forward.

“Lovely, perfect,” he announced to the crowd, “Everybody listen to me now.”

People began to quiet down, looking toward Tony, which also meant they were looking at Steve and Bucky. Bucky shifted awkwardly, dropping Steve’s hand and running his fingers through his hair.

“Our resident lovebirds have an announcement to make,” Tony bowed dramatically, turning the time over to Natasha and Clint, who smiled apologetically.

“So, as you guys know, we’re getting married,” Natasha began.

“And we think it’s important to acknowledge the most important people in our lives,” Clint continued.

“So without further ado, meet Steve and James,” Natasha motioned to the two men, as though presenting on a game show. While there was a few people scattered among the group that didn’t recognize Steve and Bucky, the vast majority knew exactly who they were.

“James has been my best friend as long as I can remember. So, obviously, I’m asking him to be my best man, if he’ll agree to it, of course.”

Bucky blushed a bit, before cracking a small smile. “Not as good as when you proposed to me earlier this week, but I’ll give it an eight out of ten.”

“So you’ll be my best man?”

“Of course I’ll be your best man.”

The room chorused with loud whoops and hollers of joy and encouragement when Clint and Bucky hugged. It was a tight, quick embrace. Not for the first time Steve was reminded just how deep the bond they shared was.

“And let’s not forget Steve,” Natasha began, “Steve who put up with me as an annoying roommate for years, and Steve who picked me up from bars at three a.m. without a single complaint. Remember all those adventures we said we were going to go on, kid?”

Steve nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Well, we’re still going to go on them. Okay? I’m getting married, but don’t think for a second that I’m leaving you behind. I made it very clear early on that if Clint was going to love me, he was going to love you, too.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Clint added. Steve smiled at the sound of Thor’s hearty laugh, among others, in the crowd.

“So, even though it isn’t conventional, I’m asking you to be _my_ best man. Or bridesmaid. Or something,” Natasha laughed. Steve was nodding so hard his neck hurt, and he had his arms around Natasha’s waist before she could say another word.

Everyone in the room cheered again, and Steve didn’t let go. Maybe growing up wasn’t as bad as he thought it was.

He and Bucky left the party not long after that. Bucky was exhausted from the crowds, and Steve was exhausted from Natasha’s speech. They parted ways, moving to their separate bedrooms in silence.

It wasn’t but a half hour later that Bucky crept to Steve’s room, burying himself in Steve’s blanket and nuzzling against his neck. Steve didn’t mind.

 

* * *

 

When Steve awoke, his bed was empty. He made his way into the kitchen, noting that the coffee was freshly made in the pot, but Bucky was absent. Steve shivered in the cold, wrapping his arms around himself. A frigid breeze wound its way into the room through an open window.

Steve walked to the source of the wind, reaching up to shut the window when he heard Bucky’s voice.

“I'd prefer it if you didn’t.”

Steve froze, before sticking his head out the window. Bucky was sitting on the ancient fire escape, his legs dangling over the edge. He smiled at Steve, before looking out across the city once more.

“What are you doing out here, Buck?”

“Watching.”

“Watching what?”

“Come out here and find out,” Bucky dared. Steve huffed, frowning at the sight of his own breath, before disappearing back inside the house. Bucky figured his request had been denied, and resumed watching the passing of cars.

Steve emerged a few moments later, a warm winter coat over his shoulders and two mugs of steaming coffee in his hands. He settled himself next to Bucky and watched the city just as Bucky was.

They were silent until their mugs were empty. Once Steve took his last sip of coffee, he leaned into Bucky, resting his head on the metal shoulder. Bucky slipped his fingers between Steve’s.

“I keep hoping things will go back to the way they were, you know?” Bucky asked, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Steve or to himself.

“Hmmm?” Steve hummed.

“I keep waiting for things to turn back into the old times, the good times,” Bucky explained, “But they don’t.”

“Are these not good times?” Steve asked.

“These are great times,” Bucky laughed, “But they’re still not as good as how things were before I had nightmares and got nervous in crowds and had this stupid metal arm.”

“Maybe it’s time to let go of the old times,” Steve suggested, “And just accept that this is how it is now. How it’s always going to be. Things might never be as good as they were before, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”

“I think you’re right,” Bucky sighed, pressing his lips into Steve’s straw colored hair. Steve smiled and turned to nuzzle into the hollow of Bucky’s neck, burying his cold bitten nose there.

“Bucky, have you ever been in love?” Steve asked quietly.

“No. Have you?”

“Nope,” Steve pulled away, grinning at Bucky, “But I’m starting to think it might feel something like this.”

“You saying you’re in love with me, Rogers?” Bucky grinned as well, touching his forehead to Steve’s.

“I’m saying I _might_ be.”

“Good. Because I _might_ be in love with you too, you punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve murmured, kissing Bucky softly.

The two sat on the fire escape until their fingers were numb, and Steve’s nose began to drip. They shuffled inside, dancing around each other in the kitchen as they made breakfast. Steve called in sick to Peggy, Bucky arms wrapped around his waist the entire time he was on the phone.

 

* * *

 

Early on Steve learned that loving Bucky wasn’t something that happened in the background of everyday life. It took energy. Being in love with Bucky wasn’t a state of being, it was an action. It wasn’t something that just _was_. It drove you mad and took your breath away. It was playing with fire and standing out in the rain and even when it hurt, it really didn’t.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you missed it in the text: This (http://goo.gl/wjHxDv) is Clint's tattoo, and this (http://goo.gl/MD2C6n) is Bucky's.
> 
> Not in the text: This (http://goo.gl/sKTuvA) is ScarJo's engagement ring, which is how I imagined Natasha's. 
> 
> Comments make my day! And if you feel like following me on tumblr, you can do that at red-0ak-tree.tumblr.com!
> 
> EDIT: This is now a part of a series! I will be writing a series of ficlets about life between the group, as well as the Barton/Romanov wedding! Stay tuned!


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